The 100th Hunger Games: Fear is the Mind-Killer
by YourWordsmith
Summary: In honor of the fourth Quarter Quell, the gamemakers have come up with a harrowing twist: each tribute's greatest fear will be waiting for him/her in the arena. ***SYOT CLOSED***
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome to the 100th hunger games! In honor of the fourth Quarter Quell, the gamemakers have come up with a twist: each tribute's greatest fear will be waiting for him/her in the arena****. (The game makers will explain the logistics of this once tributes have been reaped).**

**Now for a little background: The rebellion that occurred during the 75th hunger games did cause a change for a couple of years. But, as we know all too well, history always ends up repeating itself. And after a good thirty years, President Hans made sure the hunger games continued. And the perpetrators of the rebellion (lovely Katniss and Peeta) were hung in the capitol along with their children. It was quite a spectacle. Everybody was talking about it. If you have a chance to visit the capital, you can view their decaying bodies on display at The Museum of Panem.**

* * *

**Somewhere in District 8:**

Abel Mays, having recently turned forty, has changed immensely since he won the Hunger Games. Not only is he physically hardly recognizable (having developed a slight belly and grown a most conspicuous mustache). He is also a man of a completely different character. He now understands the importance of his self-image, a concept he considered most futile as a naive seventeen-year-old. And in these past twenty-three years he has perfected the craft of skinning hide, lost the small amount of empathy he once possessed, and divorced three women.

At the present time, the man has situated himself in a particularly lush chair, a glass of apple juice perched between his thumb and ring finger. He enjoys the fact that the juice looks like a glass of Whiskey but presents no damage to his liver.

"What a beauty," he mutters. His gaze is fixed on the dead woman pinned to the wall opposite him. Or at least, her bloody remains. The woman was caught stealing from the butcher. And, like all the greedy citizens of District 8, she was sent to Abel Mays' mansion to be "taken care of."

After Abel was caught with a few dismembered corpse's in his basement, President Hans made a deal with the man; Abel could murder as many criminals as he pleased. This compromise both satisfied Abel's bloodlust and President Hans' obsession with what he curiously called justice.

The dead woman's body is pinned up so that she appears to be standing. Abel likes to watch his victims at their full height. It makes them seem alive.

Abel sits back, and takes in the scene for a moment. He admires the grin he has carved into the woman's face.

"Myro!" he calls.

A butler, dressed most impeccably in a dark suit, hurries into the room. The servant glances at the mutilated corpse sprawled on the wall.

"Nice work, sir," Myro says. "I like what you've done with her face. Innocent yet…foreboding. Very…kafka-esque."

Abel laughs. Either Myro has completely misused the word, or he has gotten it all wrong. "That was hardly my intention. I was going more for something very simple: happiness. In honor of the upcoming games."

"Yes. The Quarter Quell. Well, that's very grand, sir." Myro's eyebrows come together, feigning a look of deep thought. After a beat, he asks "Shall I dispose of her?"

"No," Abel says. "Lets keep her out this evening. I'm having my son over for dinner. I want him to share the joy with me."

"Are you sure that's a good idea? Last time-"

"He's grown much more mature," Abel interrupts the man.

Myro's thin lips snake into a forced grin. "As you wish, sir."

* * *

**You can submit up to two tributes. The tributes you send me must be original (This means I don't want any tributes you've sent to other SYOT's, nor do I want any characters from your favorite book or television show). ****If you send me a tribute that is not original, I will murder your tribute in the most disgraceful way imaginable; I'll make sure you're so filled with shame and abasement by your tribute's death that you never submit to a SYOT again (Obviously this is a lie...if you happen to submit an unoriginal tribute then I'll just be annoyed is all. But, please don't. For my own peace of mind). **

**The SYOT sheet is on my profile. Please PM me your tribute. **


	2. Tribute List

**Tribute list:**

**District 1:**

Male: Decin Stage (18)

Female: Romina Stone (17)

**District 2:**

Male: Brayden Markwood (18)

Female: Julie Lèpou (18)

**District 3:**

Male: Plugg Zurin (15)

Female: Charmaine de Rosario (16)

**District 4:**

Male: Xiap Black (14)

Female: Leonai Liostonez (17)

**District 5: **

Male: Ambrose Maximillion (17)

Female: Skyla Lapointe (15)

**District 6:**

Male: Riley Jackson (14)

Female: Ruby Ellesworth (17)

**District 7: **

Male: Alix Shiloh (16)

Female: Adeline Price (17)

**District 8:**

Male: Camo Titan (17)

Female: Cedara Wilda Lindell (18)

**District 9:**

Male: Rio Clas (15)

Female: Marina Stroder (16)

**District 10:**

Male: Emil Cason (13)

Female: Lacey Truitt (15)

**District 11:**

Male: Salem Theon (17)

Female: Sage Hazer (15)

**District 12: **

Male: Sungyeon Avalite (17)

Female: April Pendrad (12)


	3. An Appology

An apology for anyone who still reads this story:

I am deeply and dreadfully sorry for the long wait (and the promise for that first chapter to be up by May 1st). I encourage all of my dutiful readers to take this moment to imagine themselves bashing my head in, running me over, and then perhaps feeding my remains to a fittingly terrifying animal. For, these actions are, after all, completely valid. I believe once we get the anger and frustration out of the way, we can start over. And I hope we can have a civil relationship and forget this whole ordeal.

I do have a somewhat related excuse: I've been waiting on the completion of district 1, district 8, and district 12 tributes that I thought I would have a long time ago. I was submitted names for these tributes, and promises that the completed forms would soon follow. The reason I gave the date May 1st was because the district 1 tribute I needed was supposedly going to be completed by May 1st. Alas, it wasn't. I know I should have re-opened the SYOT come May, but I don't like giving up on people. That being said, I'm giving up on the people that submitted those tributes now. The SYOT is opened. I will post the first chapter as soon as I get this new district 1 tribute I need.

So why, you are probably asking, come May 1st did I not immediately give an update that I wasn't going to be posting? I don't have a good answer, nor a good excuse. That would be entirely my fault. It was irresponsible and completely unfair to all of you. I guess I lost some verve, considering the fact that I broke my word to so many people. I will admit I gave up on this story for a couple of weeks. And I regret that. Because I know how aggravating the incomplete is.

And I know all my readers probably don't trust me by now. It's fair that you shouldn't trust me. Here's the point where I get down on one knee and ask for your forgiveness, I tell you that you can trust me from now on, and then I expect that all will be forgotten. However, I cannot expect you all to just accept this apology and be your normal gleeful selves. I figure I have to make it up to you.

So, here is what I will do to make this up to you: I will write 2 chapters a week for the next month! Obviously, this will start once District 1's reapings have been posted.

I changed my avatar. The site says it takes 24 hours to take affect. So, if you all can't see it yet, it's a despondent face that says "my bad." I'll keep that for the next week, just to show how sorry I really am.


	4. District 1 Reapings

_"The only thing we have to fear is fear itself." ― Franklin D. Roosevelt._

* * *

**District 1 Reapings: ****Decin Stage (18) and ****Romina Stone (17)**

Decin Stage's smile is the exception.

Most of his features are matured: his pronounced cheekbones, defined eyebrows, cold and calculating blue eyes. But his smile is the anomaly.

It is boyish, crooked and infantile. It gives a small breath of mischievousness to his otherwise sophisticated appearance. What's most perplexing is that in place of his right canine is a gold tooth.

And that particular gold tooth of Decin's shimmers brilliantly in the sun as he grins. It matches the stud in his ear.

Decin lifts the gun, and squints his left eye shut. After a moment of studying the dog across from him, he turns to the boy beside him.

"If I kill it, you owe me," Decin says.

"Yeah. Yeah. Whatever. I'll do anything you want," Bjorn replies. "I promise."

"And you're sure your parents won't find out?"

"Positive."

Bjorn's answer seems to satisfy Decin. And Decin brings his attention back to the dog. The animal heaves a rather human sigh, dropping its head into the grass once again.

"Stupid lazy ass," Bjorn comments. "Thinks it can shit in my bed _and_ bite my hand. Well it's dead wrong."

Decin can't help the chuckle that slips from his lips. Bjorn has never been one to get along with his household pets. But actually asking Decin to shoot his dog is a first. It's not like Decin minds, anyway.

Decin squints once again, taking aim at the dog's forehead.

"What color you think its brains will be?" Decin asks.

"Pink. Like all brains."

Decin shakes his head. "Not all brains are the same color. Some are lighter, almost white. Some are dark, just shy of purple."

"Yeah. Whatever. I guess."

Decin pulls the trigger. And with a loud bang, and a particularly vile spurt of pink liquid (Bjorn got the color of the dog's brain right), the animal collapses into a limp mass. Blood pours from its head.

"Oh, gross."

"Looks like fruit punch," Decin says, snickering.

"The dog?"

"No the blood, idiot."

"Right," Bjorn replies. "Because the dog looks like your dad."

_"__Hey!"_

Bjorn falls into a fit of giggles.

Decin stares at the dog's corpse for a moment. He approaches the animal, delicately avoiding the puddle of blood. He kneels down next to the dog.

"You're right. It does kind of look like my dad."

Decin points the gun at the animal's belly and pulls the trigger a second time. With another loud bang, the dog's stomach opens and out shoots more of the crimson liquid. A fleck of blood ends up on Decin's nose. He doesn't notice.

"For good measure," Decin says, just before shooting the dog once more.

"You're sick," Bjorn says.

Decin throws his head back, laughing.

"_What _do you think you're doing?"

Decin drops the gun immediately, spinning around. His father stands behind him, wearing an expression so livid his grey eyes seem to quiver in their sockets.

"Nothing. Just-" Decin starts.

"I'm sorry," Bjorn interrupts. "Decin wanted to practice his aim for the Hunger Games. I was willing to sacrifice my dog."

Decin's jaw drops, and he glares at his friend. "That's not what happened. Bjorn asked me to-"

"Shut up!" Mr. Stage screams at his son. "Bjorn, you can leave. I have to speak Decin." The man's gaze doesn't once leave Decin's even as he adresses Bjorn.

Bjorn gladly hurries away. He does feel slightly ashamed about throwing Decin under the bus like he did. But, everyone knows Mr. Stage isn't completely right in the head. And getting into trouble with that man never bodes well.

Mr. Stage grabs the gun. His nostrils flare.

"I told you never to touch my gun," he says.

"I know."

"I told you never to TOUCH MY GUN!" Mr. Stage screams the last three words.

Decin remains silent. He gazes into his father's eyes, anticipating the punch he's going to receive. He only hopes his father avoids his face. He doesn't want to make his debut in front of Panem with a black eye.

Mr. Stage doesn't lift a hand. Instead he lifts the gun. He presses the tip into Decin's chest.

For a moment, Decin truly believes his father will pull the trigger. He raises an eyebrow at the man.

"Are you scared?" Mr. Stage asks his son.

Decin grins. His gold tooth glints. "You know I'm not afraid of anything," he replies.

The man drops the gun to his side. His expression softens. Decin thinks he catches a second of pride in his father's face. But it is gone before Decin even has the chance to savor it.

* * *

"I trust you have mulled over my proposition," Zythe says. The 6 foot 7 man has situated himself in front of the only exit to the training center.

Romina nods, tipping her head back so she can look up at Zythe. Romina's usually effortless smile freezes on her lips.

"Well?" Zythe leans forward, awaiting Romina's answer. "What do you think?"

After a moment of hesitation, Romina responds.

"I'll volunteer," she says. Her tone remains completely apathetic, yet her eyes emit a frenzied panic. Zythe takes the look in her eyes to be a sign of bloodlust, of determination; the man has never been particularly good at reading people's emotions.

"I was hoping you would come around," he mutters, a goofy grin taking over his expression. "You know you're the best girl I've trained. You really have the talent to win."

"Thanks," Romina replies.

Upon hearing Romina's gratitude, Zythe starts into a speech about the prestige, the respect, which one can only obtain through becoming victor. Romina has heard it all before. She has heard the same speech from her parents, her teachers, her classmates.

She thinks such a mindset is completely juvenile.

Romina excuses herself from the training room, interrupting Zythe mid-lecture.

The girl doesn't go home. Obviously, the last thing she wants is to listen to her father quiz her on possible challenges she might face in the arena.

Romina goes to the one place she calls home: Tobias' basement. It is here that she keeps all her canvas', all her paints. Tobias and his family are more than happy to keep her art-room a secret. Such generous people are a rare breed in District 1.

If her parents knew she was splurging her much needed training time painting, she would probably receive a pretty harrowing slap across the cheek.

But her parents don't realize that even though Romina is incredibly proficient with a bow and arrow, she is truly sensational with a paintbrush.

Romina dumps out a mass of blues, yellows and reds from her paint cartons. She furiously slams her paintbrush against the canvas in front of her. Tobias watches from behind her. He has never seen her paint like this. Usually she is graceful, gentle. But today she paints like she is completely demented.

It doesn't take long for the figure in Romina's painting to become prominent.

"Who's that?" Tobias asks.

"It's me," Romina replies, not tearing her gaze from the canvas. "In the games."

And there she is. Her long blonde hair is flecked with blood. A burn runs from her lips to her temple. But what is most harrowing is her smile. It looks nothing like Romina's customary one. It is damaged, broken.

"You don't have to volunteer," Tobias says.

"I do, though."

"We could run away. Just go to District 2. Your parents wont find you there. I can get a good job."

Romina shakes her head. Tobias is always trying to protect her. But sometimes he can't. If only he could accept this.

* * *

Regal Rover has been District 1's escort since the 76th Hunger Games. On this particular spring day, he is positively beaming. Last year's victor from District 1, Theo Rex, is accompanying the man. Regal is sure Theo will act as the perfect mentor.

Regal takes a stance mid-stage. He gives the microphone a few taps, making sure the piece of equipment is to his standards.

"Welcome! I am honored to announce the reapings for the 100th Hunger Games!"

A thunderous round of applause rips through the crowd.

"As you all know," Regal continues. "This is the fourth Quarter Quell. And this evening, President Hans will be announcing a special twist the gamemakers have come up with specially for this Quarter Quell! So remember to watch that at 7 p.m. tonight!"

"8 p.m." Theo Rex corrects the man.

Regal is silent for a moment. He shoots Theo a rather peeved look before continuing. "This evening at 8 p.m. President Hans has promised me that this year will be the most entertaining Quarter Quell to date! Now, I don't want to beat around the bush. Let's get down to business!"

District 1 offers Regal a supply of whistles and shouts as he sticks his hand into the bowl of girls' names to his right.

"And the female tribute is…" he has some difficulty opening the folded piece of paper. "Megan Kanta!"

"I volunteer!" Romina shouts. Her voice comes off as confident, despite her weary temperament.

"Well, come on up here girl!" Regal squeals.

Romina hurries to stage. She nods in greeting to Theo and shakes Regal's hand.

"Can I get a name?" Regal asks.

"My name is Romina Stone."

The escort wiggles his eyebrows. "Nice to meet you, Romina!"

Romina smiles. Her grey eyes are vacant. Yet, her grin is absolutely brilliant.

For a moment she dissociates herself from the situation. She does not notice a crowd full of bloodthirsty civilians, nor does she notice the line of peacekeepers, nor the ominous context of the entire situation. Romina only perceives the colors. And for this one moment, she is content.

"Who is ready to meet our lucky boy?!" Regal asks.

The crowd whistles and cheers. Even Romina claps, presenting a gleeful laugh.

Regal pulls out a boy's name. "Tyson Grey-"

"I volunteer!"

The voice seems to radiate through the air. It takes Romina (along with the cameras) a moment to find the boy that the voice belongs to.

The boy struts to stage, taking his sweet time. He has quite a striking appearance—one not of the average career. He is handsome, no doubt, but not in the muscular, movie-star way tributes from District 1 tend to be. Romina thinks he almost resembles a very glamorous _pirate_.

The boy rolls the right sleeve of his expensive leather jacket up, revealing a tattoo that runs from his wrist all the way up to his shoulder. His dirty-blonde hair is gelled back, yet one loose strand falls neatly across his forehead. He grins, flashing his brilliantly bright gold tooth.

He gladly accepts the mike from Regal and says, "The name is Decin Stage."

His charm and confidence award him no shortage of applause.

"What's your tattoo say?" Regal asks.

"Just some words of inspiration," Decin says. He reads off a couple of the phrases on his arm. "Blood never looked so beautiful…"

Romina's stomach tenses up as she recognizes the phrases tattooed on Decin's arm. The boy's arm is covered with the last words of the past 18 Hunger Games victors. One for every year of Decin's life.

"And one of my personal favorites," Decin continues. "As said by the honorable Theo Rex: District 1 always wins."

**District 2's reapings will be up in the next 3-4 days. Please pop in a review. Feedback nurtures my muse. **


	5. District 2 Reapings

"Without fear there cannot be courage." - Christopher Paolini

* * *

**District 2 Reapings: Brayden Markwood (18) and Julie Lèpou (18)**

According to Brayden Markwood, the 21st century is the most interesting century to have ever existed. It was in the 21st century that the world began to fall apart. And beginnings are always the most enticing, Brayden believes. Especially if such beginnings are the onset to an end.

Brayden is mulling over the concept of a beginning as he sprints down the streets of District 2. His short brown hair flutters in the wind. His electric green eyes are focused on the sky above.

He is trying to distract himself from the fact that he is strangely cold on this spring day, and that he is only in his boxer-briefs.

A group of girls have stopped walking, gaping at Brayden. The Markwood boy slows down a little as he passes them.

"Ladies." He nods, bringing his hands up to his forehead in a polite salute. Brayden always makes time for girls. He finds that girls are one of the three things he needs to survive (the other two being parties and chocolate chip cookies).

The girls giggle, as girls tend to do when in close proximity to the handsome ladies man.

For the most part, Brayden gets a positive reaction. Be it laughter, cheers. He only gets a couple glowers. But those glowers are mostly from the poorer people in District 2. The poor always view Brayden as a snob. They think he's vile for having such rich foster parents (as though it's his fault). They scold the boy for throwing parties in that mansion of his, for aways acting like he doesn't have a care in the world.

Once Brayden arrives back at his house, the group of teens standing just outside erupt into a round of vehement applause.

Duke, the blonde boy standing at the front of the crowd, wraps his arm around Brayden's broad shoulders. Considering the fact that Brayden is 6 feet and 4 inches, for little only-a-tad above-6-feet Duke, it's a big feat.

"Got to give it to you, man," Duke says. "You've got balls."

"Right," Brayden grins. "Two more than you'll ever have."

The crowd laughs.

"Very funny." Duke rolls his eyes.

"Anyway, a dare is a dare," Brayden continues. "You know I never turn one down!"

This is not completely true. Brayden does sometimes turn down dares when he is sober. In fact, he probably wouldn't have sprinted across town in his underwear if he hadn't downed a couple of drinks already this morning.

Duke tosses Brayden a bottle of some most expensive wine. "You've earned it!"

* * *

"Stupid Brayden Markwood," Julie Lepou mutters. She's leaning against her window, watching the boy down a bottle of something that can't be good for his body. "Can't he stop throwing so many parties? They're all so _loud_!"

"Come on, Jules, listen to yourself. Brayden Markwood…stop throwing parties?!" Devin raises a brow. "That's like asking a serial killer to stop killing!"

"Yeah, He'd probably die without five glasses of whiskey in his system," Marcus adds.

"You need to move," Zane says. "Markwood's never gonna change."

"Well," Julie's perfect lips twist into a lustful smirk. "Once I win the games I'll get one of the victor mansions. And I'll never hear another song blasting from that idiot's house again."

"Give him a break. He's had a hard life. If he wants to party, let him," Paris says.

Julie isn't sure how to respond. The truth is, Brayden's past is out of a horror story. Everyone remembers the fire that tore through District 2 a couple years back. Five lost their homes, seven were injured. Yet, miraculously only three died; Brayden's mother, father, and only sibling. It's harrowing how in the span of just an hour, Brayden's whole family turned into ash.

"Besides," Paris continues. "His last party I went to was fun."

Julie crosses her arms over her chest. She has gone to many of Brayden's parties, none of which have been even remotely fun. They all consist of a number of intoxicated teens. And at the last one Julie attended, Brayden, who was probably the most wrecked person there, made passes at her while he had his arm wrapped around another girl. And although Julie is used to guys making passes at her (and she usually likes it), she still finds it rather upsetting when boys don't give any attention to the girl's they're with.

"We can just turn volume ever higher," Zane suggests, bringing the group back to the task at hand: watching last year's Hunger Games. They're down to the final two contestants. There can't be more than a couple minutes left before the victor is crowned.

It was Julie's idea to invite her friends over for a Hunger Games marathon. She hand-picked her favorite games (the 34th, 50th, 74th, 87th and the 99th). She has watched every single Hunger Games, yet she knows her favorite five like the back of her hand. She can recite every tribute's last words, as well as recount exactly what every deceased tribute did wrong.

A young girl appears in the doorway of Julie's room.

"Oh Alice!" Julie remarks. "Come on and watch the end of the 99th with us."

Julie makes room for her little sister on the couch. Alice leans her head against Julie's chest, clearly comforted by her older sister's presence. Julie's almost maternal relationship with Alice confuses some of Julie's friends. Zane is always complaining about his little brother. He doesn't understand why Julie loves her sister so much.

Zane presses play on the television, and the last dual resumes.

"That was a wicked dodge," Marcus remarks.

"Everyone be quiet," Julie whispers to her friends. Her eyes are focused on the screen, her expression one of pure vigilance. "This is it…my favorite part…"

And the girl watches, enthralled, as the boy from 1's sword slides through the boy from 4's chest.

She beams.

She doesn't so much enjoy the thought of murdering. It is the thought of winning, of playing the game just right, that makes her exultant.

* * *

When Julie Lepou volunteers, she receives a warm round of applause. Whistles follow the girl as she makes her way to the stage. The men of District 2 are all pleased with the girl's good looks. Last year's District 2 female resembled a bear more than a human. And although she was a strong tribute (because of brute strength), she received way less sponsors than girl's from District 2 tend to.

Julie tucks a strand of blonde hair that has become loose from her braid behind her ear. She winks at the camera, sporting a flirtatious smile.

This causes a whole new wave of cheers.

"My, my, aren't you _beautiful_!" Caridee Wilkes, District 2's escort, squeals.

Julie smiles brilliantly.

"Now lets meet our boy!" Caridee exclaims. She sticks her hand in the bowl of boys' names, pulling out a small slip of paper. "Brayden Markwood!" Caridee reads.

The audience cheers and screams. Never has anyone heard such a reaction to a reaping.

Brayden walks to stage. He embodies District 2. He towers over Julie, even though the girl is by no means short. His muscular arms, his heavy build, demonstrate power and strength.

Brayden, however, looks momentarily confused. His eyes sweep the crowd, as though he expects someone to volunteer for him. Julie expects this, too. She has never seen him at the training center.

But, Brayden is only awarded the largest set of applause anyone in District 2 has ever received.

"Any volunteers?" Caridee asks.

The cheers continue. They are so vociferous one would think President Hans had just arrived in District 2.

Julie is sure there was a guy from the training center who was going to volunteer this year. Yet, even if he intended to volunteer before, it's unlikely he would want to take the place of a dude that has the whole of District 2 on his side.

"All right! Let's hear it for District 2's tributes!"

"Wait!" Brayden hisses. "I didn't…I'm not ready for-"

His words are drowned out by the applause.

Caridee claps him on the back and says, "Smile, honey!"

A series of expressions cross the boy's face. Confusion, hurt, fear, anger. But they are fleeting, and only Julie (being so close to him) notices. After a couple seconds, Brayden smiles. And he appears confident, comfortable and sure. No longer can Julie catch even an ounce of doubt.

Brayden lifts his arms above his head, working the crowd.

Julie, however grudgingly, realizes that Brayden Markwood is obviously a strong competitor. He will, no doubt, be an asset in the arena. It is best to stay on his good side.

* * *

"You have to be kidding me," Julie fumes. Even as she's trying to take a peaceful moment with her family, Brayden's goodbye posse next door is so loud she can hardly hear her own thoughts. There are cheers and whistles and even what sounds like an explosion. No doubt, his party followed him into the Justice Building.

"I have something very special for you," Aberdeen, Julie's father, says. The man slips a ring onto Julie's finger. "I want you to take this as your token."

"It's very pretty," Julie says, trying to ignore the rave next door.

"It's more than pretty," Aberdeen corrects his daughter. "It is deadly. There's poison inside. Enough to kill two people. But make sure you tell no one. Not even your mentor or escort. They might take it away."

Julie nods.

"Beautiful but deadly, just like you," Julie's mother whispers. Pride coats her words.

**District 3's reapings will be up in the next 3-4 days.**


	6. District 3 Reapings

_"Fear cuts deeper than swords." - George R.R. Martin_

* * *

**District 3 Reapings: Plugg Zurin (15) and Charmaine de Rosario (16)**

The problem is that Charmaine looks just too beautiful on reaping day. Her long brown hair falls down her back, her dark eyes pop in contrast to her tight white dress.

On a customary day, the girl wears plain clothes to school and back home. She remains unnoticed by most. And although it pains her to be part of the background, she knows it is for the best.

It is because she looks so beautiful this morning that Watt notices and decides to walk onto her porch and talk to her.

Watt is tall and has a smile that makes every girl in his grade swoon. Even Charmaine (though she tries her best to hide it).

Charmaine knows almost as soon as Watt sits down next to her that things are about to go horribly wrong.

"Hey," the boy says. "You know, I don't think we've ever really talked before…I-"

"You should go," Charmaine tries to warn the boy. The girl's words are thick with a Filipino accent. Yet her voice is gentle, and she makes the English language sound graceful.

Watt just thinks the girl is shy. He knows that she hardly ever talks at school. She just sits in the front of the class, her head bent over her notebook, taking vigilant notes, getting impeccable marks.

"Don't worry. I don't bite." He places his hand on her leg, a grin spreading across his lips.

It is at this moment that Charmaine's front door opens and out storms Elise, Charmaine's mother. Elise balls her hands into fists.

"_Charmaine!_" The woman's words are sharp, loud, and frighteningly aggressive. Elise pulls her lips into a sneer and glowers at the boy. She raises her right hand, as though she intends to hit him.

Watt perceives this as the moment to book it. He doesn't so much as look back once. Charmaine can tell he wont be talking to her again any time soon. Crazy mothers don't bode well with sixteen-year-old boys.

Elise grabs Charmaine by the ear and forces the girl into the kitchen.

"Stop it!" Charmaine manages to pull herself free. She rubs her ear, then immediately goes into defense. She knows her parents' strict rules against having boys even _remotely_ near the house. "He was only talking to me. We didn't-"

"Huwag-"

"Mama, please-"

"Huwag kang magsalita ng ingles sa bahay!"

"I can speak English in the house if I want to!" Charmaine responds. "You can't tell me what to do anymore!"

Charmaine's mother opens her mouth, ready to rant to Charmaine more about how she must only speak Tagalog in the house. But, Charmaine pushes past her mother and runs out the door. Tears pool in her eyes.

Charmaine understands where her mother is coming from. Charmaine's family is the only one in all of District 3 that still speaks Tagalog. And her parents are strict about Charmaine keeping the language alive in the future. Charmaine's father is always quick to remind her how many languages have died since Panem came into existence.

But sometimes Charmaine doesn't want the responsibility. Sometimes she just wants to be normal.

* * *

"Well, it is essentially exactly what we first saw with the first signal contains the color and intensity of each pixel in a set of rows along with the horizontal and vertical sync signals-"

Plugg groans, his eyelids drooping. Can Mr. Elek be any more dull? Plugg is used to the insipid, but this morning he can hardly breathe because he's just so _bored_.

"Please stop," Plugg mutters.

The boy's words remain unnoticed.

Mr. Elek continues. "the rows of pixels are combined with synchronization signals-"

And then it becomes too much for the boy to handle. The normally polite Plugg slams his hand on the table and screams, "Oh shut up, shut up, _shut up!"_

Mr. Elek does, in fact, shut up. The entire room looks over at the fifteen-year-old. Their smiles hang, about to fall. No one expected such an aggressive outburst from the boy.

Almost immediately, Plugg regrets his eruption. His parents are going to be so angry with him; they have a group of some of the most illustrious men in all of District 3 over for brunch. And Plugg completely ruins it.

Plugg, very reluctantly, glances at his father. The man wears no livid expression. Mr. Zurin sports only an incredibly flushed face; a sign of deep abasement.

"Plugg, go to your room why don't you?" Mr. Zurin says. His tone is calm.

Plugg complies.

"Sorry about that," Mr. Zurin announces to the room once he believes Plugg is out of ear shot. "Don't know what's gotten into him lately." Recently, Plugg has gotten into fights at school (always somehow pertaining to his disdain for technology). It worries his parents, since the boy is usually such a good child.

Once Plugg reaches his room, he slams his door shut.

He couldn't listen to another second of Mr. Elek lecturing the inhabitants of the room on the pedantic science behind technology. It's all anyone in District 3 ever talks about. All students learn in school is the history of electricity and technology, the physics and math and chemistry behind the two. Plugg gets so fed up with such a life. Because although technology is the center of his district, and such a seminal foundation for the whole of Panem, it is nothing more than superficial. Technology isn't part of reality.

Plugg should be focusing on _living, _not on the superficial world of technology.

It is in this moment of frustration that Plugg realizes he cannot live like this anymore. He has to get out of District 3.

And there is only one way to make sure he gets out.

He's going to volunteer.

* * *

"Charmaine de Rosario."

Silence.

"Charmaine de Rosario," Pinkie Rose, District 3's escort, repeats. "Honey, please don't keep us waiting. We don't have all day."

It is Elizabeth Brennan, the girl next to Charmaine, that grabs Charmaine's hand. She squeezes it in an act of reassurance.

Elizabeth and Charmaine used to be friends. But school made them grow apart. Elizabeth became more invested in the immediate physical world; in sports, gymnastics. Charmaine became invested in the things that didn't denote such reality; she focused on theater, on romance novels.

At this moment the two forget they are no longer friends.

The girls exchange no words. But Elizabeth's eyes seem to be saying _it's okay. _Charmaine lets go of the girl's hand and trips forward. She shuffles up to stage.

"Hello, sweetheart," Pinkie says.

"Hello," Charmaine returns. Pinkie immediately notices the accent and makes a mental note to talk more to Charmaine about this later. She knows an accent is good. Anything that makes a tribute stand out is helpful in the Games.

Pinkie quickly ask for volunteers. But she hardly waits for an answer.

"Boy time!" Pinkie squeals. She takes a long time fishing around for a name, enjoying the way every boy looks sick with anxiety. Eventually, she pulls out a name.

"Cade Volts!"

"I volunteer!"

It is Plugg Zurin that jogs up to stage.

The audience gets quiet. A volunteer from a non-career district (even one as close to the capital as District 3) is almost unheard of.

Plugg doesn't look particularly happy himself. In fact, he wears an expression of disdain, looking out into the crowd of District 3 citizens. Once he turns towards the cameras, however, he grins.

He accepts the microphone from Pinkie and announces his name with such clarity and assurance. He looks nothing like the average District 3 boy. He is tall and toned. He is an image of confidence. His light brown hair shimmers brilliantly in the sun. Both Charmaine and Plugg have a very slight tan (which is noticeable in a district where people are so pale they appear almost translucent).

Charmaine immediately avoids making any sort of eye contact with her district partner. She doesn't want him to think she's trying to leach onto him. But, Plugg makes a point of looking into her eyes and smiling.

"Good luck," he says. His dark green eyes look so genuine, Charmaine believes he truly means what he says. But she still can't trust him.

She knows very little about the Games. Yet she is sure of one thing: she can't trust anyone.

******District 3's reapings will be up in the next 3-4 days.**


End file.
